


hands to midnight

by rosewitchx



Series: Bodyguard AU [5]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, he aint do it he just thinks about it, maybe he does my brsin aint working ill revisit those tags when i wake up, undisclosed trauma??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25299895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewitchx/pseuds/rosewitchx
Summary: He can’t breathe.Or: Steven has a meltdown in the bathroom at 2am!
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran & Steven Universe
Series: Bodyguard AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754770
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	hands to midnight

**Author's Note:**

> title; here comes the end - gerard way  
> this can be read as a standalone thing the series doesnt have enough context for this yet

It’s not that he doesn’t feel, like he once thought it would be like. He feels everything. He feels the cold of the bathroom tile, he feels the towel he’s sitting on (slightly dampened from his shower earlier), he feels the edges of the sink he’s gripping. It’s not that he doesn’t feel them. The issue is that he can’t think. He can’t breathe aside from these dumb shallow puffs he can barely manage. He can’t  _ think  _ about anything else: all he sees is death. 

The music coming from his phone, while he  _ knows  _ it’s quite low, overwhelms him. It’s too loud. His ears hurt with every strum of the guitar, but he can’t move to save his own skin. He doesn’t look in the mirror, because he knows he’ll see the rose-colored version of himself he loathes. 

He stares into the wall. He can’t think beyond death, and war. He’s there, he thinks, in the bathroom, but he feels himself just slightly out of sync with his body, like he’s offset himself just a few inches out of frame. And it’s numbing and confusing but he can’t bring himself to move, to turn the phone off, to  _ move. _

He closes his eyes and mouths the lyrics to the song that’s playing now, even when it’s still way too much. He presses his hands against his ears,  _ hard  _ — like a contradiction like that is gonna solve anything. He’s too tired for tears. He thinks about the razor inside the little drawer behind the mirror, and it’s a thought so sudden, so cruel, and he has to fight it with all his being. 

He doesn’t move, but his hands itch. The song is ending. The next one plays: he still doesn’t move. 

He’s so silly. Just a few words manage to send him down spiraling. It’s the same shit every time. It’s embarrassing, really, what would Connie think? She doesn’t get this way. And he knows that’s unfair, that’s his brain talking — still hurts. Still fucks him up. He thinks about long black nails. He thinks about blood on the floor, feeling both organ failure and having no organs at all. He thinks about electricity running through his veins and Connie going hungry in the Tower, and himself going hungry too, but in a strange way she couldn’t relate to. His nails dig into his thighs as he curls up, and he squeezes his eyes shut, for even the dim, yellow lights of the bathroom are overwhelming now. He thinks about Blue saying she wanted to hurt him  _ bad,  _ and then about Eyeball, for some reason, and he stops breathing for a moment too long and chokes. 

By the time he makes it out of the bathroom the sun is starting to rise. 

“Morning,” he mumbles, not meaning it, and sits on his bed, waiting for Pearl to come out of the Temple again. 

**Author's Note:**

> i know it doesmt make sense didnt proofread i just needed to ground myself   
> wrote this while staring into the void   
> regarding the series: i am not dead just trying to finish the semester without dying sorry i havent been writinf much at all


End file.
